


When Two and One Make Three

by Iolre



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddles, Established Relationship, Figuring out the snarls, Fluff, Greg is a rock, John feels left out, M/M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Previous Sherstrade, Sherlock is blunt, argument, fight, johnlockstrade - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-09 23:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,137
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1152090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iolre/pseuds/Iolre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John exhaled slowly, his head lolling back on the sofa, eyes half-closed as he tried to fight the throes of sleep. It had been a long, busy day at the surgery, flu season having half of the city in a panic, and he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and some uninterrupted sleep. Instead he was being used as a bloody footrest while Sherlock sprawled over the sofa, his head in Greg’s lap. He opened his eyes, looking over to see Greg leaning down and giving a smirking Sherlock a gentle kiss.</p><p>Emotion dueled uncomfortably in him. There was a warmth, a faint smile, seeing Sherlock so obviously happy. He liked both of them, wanted both of them to smile, and to see them relaxed and comfortable pleased him. At the same time there was a faint undercurrent of jealousy, something that prickled just underneath his skin. Sherlock and Greg had a long history together, something that had been apparent the moment the DI showed up with a squad in 221B for a drugs bust.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When Two and One Make Three

**Author's Note:**

> Based on this prompt: Johnlockstrade. Greg and Sherlock have a lot of history, as John learns during the drugs bust after moving in to 221B. As they begin dating, John questions whether or not he really fits into the equation of their relationship.
> 
> You can prompt more Johnlockstrade from me [here!](http://minorsherlockprompts.tumblr.com)

John exhaled slowly, his head lolling back on the sofa, eyes half-closed as he tried to fight the throes of sleep. It had been a long, busy day at the surgery, flu season having half of the city in a panic, and he wanted nothing more than a hot shower and some uninterrupted sleep. Instead he was being used as a bloody footrest while Sherlock sprawled over the sofa, his head in Greg’s lap. He opened his eyes, looking over to see Greg leaning down and giving a smirking Sherlock a gentle kiss.

Emotion dueled uncomfortably in him. There was a warmth, a faint smile, seeing Sherlock so obviously happy. He liked both of them, wanted both of them to smile, and to see them relaxed and comfortable pleased him. At the same time there was a faint undercurrent of jealousy, something that prickled just underneath his skin. Sherlock and Greg had a long history together, something that had been apparent the moment the DI showed up with a squad in 221B for a drugs bust.

What he hadn’t expected was to feel like a third wheel. An extra limb. Unnecessary. Unwanted. He patted Sherlock’s leg, then stood, fighting back a yawn. “I’m going to shower.” John gathered the trio of mugs from the table, taking them into the kitchen and dumping them in the sink. When he turned around, Greg was watching him with a faint smile.

“I’ll come with, wash your back.” The DI started to stand, and then was foiled by Sherlock, who wouldn’t let him. “Sherlock, don’t be a wanker.”

“It’s fine, really.” John forced a smile, or as much of one as he could manage, as tired as he was.

“You sure?” Greg asked, his voice tinged with concern.

“Yeah.” John nodded, and then walked into his bedroom upstairs, grabbing what he needed for a shower. He moved slowly once out of sight. Purposefully. Giving one of them or the other time to change their minds. Not that he minded them having individual time with each other - he loved his time with Greg or Sherlock almost as much as their time together as three - but sometimes it felt like he was the one that was left out more often. Like the other two spent more time together than they did with him, leaving him behind. Alone. Which was strange, since he happened to live with Sherlock.

Not that Sherlock was often the greatest boyfriend. When caught up in a case, it was as if romantic or sexual relationships never existed in the first place. He was demanding, frenetic, sarcastic. Determined to solve the most complex case in the quickest way possible. Neither Greg nor John were immune to his behavior, and they showed it in small touches, brief glances. Greg was always busy with work and John was busy looking after Sherlock and ensuring that he didn’t burn down the flat. Sometimes Greg would drop by after he left his desk, nap for three or four hours, often with John, and then leave again.

John almost always felt lonely during the time period the cases covered. If it was a private case, Greg wouldn’t be affected, and they would get to spend some time together, often the three of them, even if it was John and Greg managing an emaciated Sherlock. It was something the three of them could share. It had only been three or four months, the three of them together, and John craved more. He just wished things felt more balanced, that he knew where he belonged.

Walking down the stairs, he stepped into the bathroom, leaving the door unlocked, just in case. He stripped quickly, meticulously folding his clothes and setting them to the side. His tidiness was a byproduct of years in the service, and even now he clung to it, the familiarity keeping him company in his loneliest hours. Not that he was lonely. Not really. He had two boyfriends, after all. John turned on the water, waited for it to warm up, and then stepped underneath the spray, closing his eyes appreciatively as it started to warm him up.

It wasn’t the first time he had been jealous of the two of them together. Wondered whether or not he really fit in with them. He had been in relationships with women before when there had just been too much history to overcome, too much baggage that he couldn’t sort through. The three men had talked about it, before agreeing to an exclusive, polyamorous relationship. All of it had been laid on the table. Sherlock’s drug history. Greg’s role in getting him clean. The vague, tenuous relationship that had sprung up between the two of them before John came into the picture. He had known all of it.

With a sigh he washed his hair, washed himself, trying not to fall asleep underneath the steady warmth of the water. Regretfully he turned the shower off, stepped out into the cold, drying himself as fast as he could before slipping into the warmer pyjamas he slept in due to the weather. They had only recently wrapped up a case, and Sherlock’s post-case manners were as variable as a volatile chemical. Greg was more predictable, with his determination of whether or not to stay being based on a smaller number of factors. John wasn’t going to ask. He hadn’t sunk that low. There was still trust that they wouldn’t leave him completely out.

John scrubbed a hand through his still-damp hair as he walked out of the humid bathroom, grabbing his dressing gown and slipping it on. He moved towards the kitchen, towards the kettle, wanting one last cuppa before he headed to bed. “John.” Sherlock was sitting at the table, his long hands wrapped lovingly around the microscope in front of him. He lifted his head from the eyepiece, and John could feel Sherlock’s eyes on his back as he walked past to turn on the kettle

“Tea?” John asked both of them, pausing with his hand on the first mug.

“Yes,” Sherlock mused absently, echoed by Greg’s firmer acceptance from just a bit farther away. John pulled down three mugs, grabbing the tea bags and sticking one in each. “We need to talk.”

John’s stomach flipped painfully in his abdomen, and he fought to keep his face steady, keep his emotions under control, even though it felt like he had just been dipped in an ice bath. “Yeah?”

“Sherlock,” Greg scolded. “It’s not that, John.” He stepped forward and slid an arm around John’s waist, pressing his face into his hair, kissing his temple. “Not quite as doom and gloom as his highness over there made it sound.”

John chuckled slightly, wrapping an arm around Greg and leaning into him, drawing comfort from his warmth. “Don’t call him that,” he said with an amused smile. “Last thing we want is for him to craft a crown.”

“Or steal one from the Crown,” Greg mused. “I see your point.”

“I wouldn’t steal it,” Sherlock said indignantly.

John shook his head slightly, pouring the water into the mugs as soon as the kettle went off. “Tea and then out to the sitting room,” Greg suggested. John glanced at the clock, then nodded slightly, aware of the weariness that was starting to set in now that the temporary surge of adrenaline was failing. He rubbed his eyes, fighting a yawn and only halfway succeeding, still leaning against the taller DI. Greg let go of him once the tea was done, quickly tossing the teabags and grabbing one of the mugs.

Sherlock settled on one side of the sofa, staring challengingly at John until the military doctor settled next to him. Greg took the far side, and they sat for a few moments in what John felt was an awkward silence. “Greg thinks that you are feeling neglected in this relationship and therefore we have to discuss it so that you no longer feel uncomfortable and I can return to my examination of how acid effects eyeballs after being suspended in formaldehyde,” Sherlock said bluntly. John nearly choked on his tea, Greg pounding his back while John’s face, neck, and ears turned a brilliant shade of red.

“What?” he managed, quickly burying himself in his tea, not looking at other of the men at his sides.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “I said - ”

“No,” John interjected hastily. “I know what you said.”

Sherlock studied him for a few moments. “Greg is correct, is he not?”

John opened his mouth to deny it, to say something, anything, and stopped. “Yeah, a bit,” he admitted, his gaze on the liquid in his mug.

Greg slid closer so that their thighs were touching, a solid connection among John’s embarrassment and uncertainty. “That’s the thing about this whole relationship. We have to communicate,” he told John quietly. Slipping an arm around John, he pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Resentments can burst down the road and I don’t want that to happen.” Greg sighed, nuzzled John briefly, kissed him again. “We’re rather fond of you. We don’t want to lose you. So talk to us.”

John thought for a moment, took Greg’s words and let them sink into him. Then he opened his mouth, and spoke. Communicated. Said everything that had he had mulled over in his mind for the past two months. It wasn’t easy, and he didn’t look up from his (mostly) cold tea during the duration, but by the time he was done, he felt considerably lighter. Like a weight had been lifted off of his chest.

“Bed?” Sherlock said once John was done, gathering the mugs and tossing them into the sink, not even flinching at the loud clanking noises.

“I’m rather tired,” John answered with an apologetic shrug.

“Bed,” Greg agreed, and John shot him a bemused glance as he was escorted to Sherlock’s room. For some reason John didn’t care to know, Sherlock had already had a bed big enough for the three of them to fit comfortably. Because of that, whenever it was more than two of them for the night, they preferred to sleep in Sherlock’s room.

John stripped off his dressing gown and his thicker layers. With both of them in bed with him, he wouldn’t need to worry much about heat. Sherlock was like a portable furnace, and John was rarely cold when he was curled up within a foot of his lanky body. With a pleased sigh Greg slid in next to him, tucking John’s back against his chest and wrapping an arm about his more solidly built body. “Comfortable?” he murmured into the army doctor’s ear.

Shifting slightly, John moved a smidgen so that he was more comfortable. “Yeah,” he agreed, eyes half-closing as he quickly started falling asleep. However, he was quickly jolted awake when ice-cold toes touched his shins. He started, kicking Sherlock in front of him and Greg behind him.

“Ouch!” Greg yelped.

“Sherlock!” John grumbled.

“Apparently ice-cold appendages are a very solid method for receiving a response in bed,” Sherlock mused.

“No bloody experiments on either of us in bed,” Greg muttered. “You promised.”

“No, I only promised to engage in the fun ones,” Sherlock said absently, drying off his feet before properly slipping under the duvet. “I found that suitably fun.”

“You’re the only one,” Greg informed him, shifting so that John was tucked up against him again. John glared at Sherlock briefly, earning an amused grin from the consulting detective.

“Bit not good,” he said curtly. “I don’t want to know what was on your feet.”

“Ice,” Sherlock answered.

“Shush,” Greg scolded sleepily. “John, I hope you know that we would never intentionally exclude you,” he murmured. “We love you.”

John stilled for a second, and then relaxed against Greg, his eyes half-closed, a smile spreading across his face. “I love you, too.”

“Speak for yourself,” Sherlock muttered, and John kicked him, earning a satisfied grunt from Greg.

“Sherlock,” Greg said warningly.

The consulting detective rolled his eyes, then scooted forward, his bare chest flush against John’s clothed one. Sherlock had the oddly distracting tendency to sleep naked. He leaned down and kissed John, so sweet and tender that the army doctor feared he would melt. Then he shifted slightly and gave Greg an equally tender kiss. “Now shut up,” Sherlock informed them both, settling down and closing his eyes.

“Quite the romantic,” Greg whispered into John’s ear, and he snorted.

“I heard that.” Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“I’ll smother both of you with a pillow if you don’t let me get some sleep,” John informed them both, pleased to feel them relax against him.

“Good night,” Greg murmured, the sentiment echoed by both of his partners. John smiled, and then quickly drifted off.


End file.
